got that sorted, brother. No one’s fucking game to mess it up anymore.”
When Winter ends the call, I say, “I love your guys.”
He places his hand on my thigh. “I think the feeling’s mutual, angel. You look after them too well.”
Five minutes later, we pull into a car park and make our way into the therapist’s office. We wait for fifteen minutes, during which Winter appears a little on edge.
I glance at him. “You okay, baby?”
He nods, his body rigid. “Yeah. You?”
I join our hands. “We’re in this together. Just remember that, okay?”
He opens his mouth to speak, but the therapist calls us in.
I follow Winter in and take a seat next to him on the couch across from the therapist.
She introduces herself—Claire—and then gives us a rundown of how the session will work. She then looks between us and says, “So, why don’t we start with you telling me why you’re here.”
Winter stretches his arm out behind me, across the couch, and says, “Birdie miscarried last year, after we’d done seven years of IVF, and just before that, my brother died. So you could say we’ve got some stuff to talk about.”
I stare at him, happy he took the lead. It’s not that I didn’t want to; I just hoped he’d contribute equally to this session, and it looks promising after that.
Claire’s kind eyes make me feel comfortable to share our story with her. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “Do you have a preference for what you’d like to talk about first?”
Winter looks at me, waiting for my response on this one. He takes my hand and holds it on his leg.
I smile at him and then answer Claire. “I honestly don’t know where to start. It’s been such a mess of emotions for eight years. We prepared for IVF for one year and then did ten cycles over the next seven. I miscarried three times, and that was after previously having two ectopic pregnancies and losing both my tubes. The reason I wanted to come in and talk to you is because after I miscarried this last time, and we said that was the end of IVF, we both threw ourselves into work and drifted apart from each other. We avoided talking about it. I mean, after the initial disappointment and anger that we shared. And on top of that, we were grieving Winter’s brother’s death. I don’t think we grieved any of it properly; I’m hoping you can help us figure out how to do that.”
“That’s a good place to start, Birdie,” Claire says. Then to Winter, she says, “Do you feel the same way?”
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “I know we got busy with work and didn’t have a lot of time to talk about stuff, but I don’t know we avoided talking about it. We’d already spent seven years talking about it. There wasn’t much else to say once it was all done.”
“We talked about IVF for all those years, yes,” I say to Winter, “but we didn’t really ever talk about the emotional fallout of reaching the end of the road.”
He looks at me. “I thought that was a given.”
I frown. “What was a given?”
“The way we both felt about the end of the road. It wasn’t a happy fucking feeling, and I just thought we both felt the same.”
“We did. I guess I just got to a point where I wanted to talk about it with you and I felt like you shut down on me every time I tried. And about Max, too.”
“That was because I was busy, not because I didn’t want to talk.”
I don’t want to get into an argument with him over this, but I do want him to face his avoidance of dealing with his pain.
Shifting to face him, I pull his hand onto my leg and hold it tightly. “Okay, let’s talk about it now. Tell me how you feel about us never being able to have a child of our own.”
Winter’s shoulders are stone, as is his face. I don’t want to see him break. God, how I don’t want to see that. But I think it might be the thing he needs in order for us to move forward together. “I’m disappointed, but—”
I shake my head. “No. That word doesn’t even begin to describe it. Dig deeper. Tell me how you feel it in here”—I place my hand to his chest—“and whether it stops your breaths from coming some moments.